Is There a T-T-T-Traitor in the House?
by GrrraceUnderfire
Summary: Somebody's got to speak on Berlin Betty's broadcast - but who's going to step up and be the traitor, knowing that the broadcast could haunt him after the war? Newkirk realizes his weakness is a strength in this situation. Based on the episode by nearly the same name, minus the stutter.


**This story provides some missing scenes from "Is There a Traitor the House?" the episode in which Newkirk "sells out" to Berlin Betty by making a radio broadcast. WE all know he was sending a code—but wouldn't he be branded a traitor when he returned home after the war? In my stories, I write Newkirk with the stutter he has on the German TV show, and that gave me an idea about how to answer this question! Please read and let me know what you think. Reviews help!**

**XXX**

Chapter 1: Setting the Tr-Trap

"It's got to be one of us," Hogan said as he paced the floor. "And it's a lot to ask of anyone. It has to be me."

"Colonel, I disagree," Kinch said. "A US Army Air Corps Colonel on Berlin Betty's broadcast will be headline news around the world. The damage to morale would be too great. It should be an enlisted man, Sir. I'll do it."

"Why you, Kinch?" Carter asked. "That doesn't seem right."

"Listen, Andrew," Kinch said. "There are plenty of Americans who think colored people aren't fit to fight in the first place. It'll play into the stereotype. And anyone who knows me will assume I was treated pretty roughly to give in like that. I can do it. I have less to lose."

Newkirk stubbed out a cigarette. "People really think that?" he asked softly. "Because of your skin color?"

"Of course they do," Kinch said. He gestured around the room. "Not these guys, of course. But you've been around, Newkirk. You've heard what some of the guys in the camp have to say about me."

"Tossers," Newkirk said firmly. "Bloody st-stupid, that is. Like j-j-j-judging me because of the way I sound."

"Some people do have a hard time with your stutter, Newkirk," Carter put in. "But that's because they don't know you."

"I wasn't actually thinking of mmme st-st-stammer, C-Carter. I was thinking of mmmme accent. People 'ear it and assume I 'ave no education," Newkirk said.

That was enough to send Carter running off on a tangent. "Well you don't actually have much education, do you? I mean, didn't you say you stopped school when you were 13?" Carter said.

"I was 12, but who's counting?" Newkirk snapped. "Andrew, going to school where they b-box your ears and cl-cl-clout you about 'ead all day to try and mmmake you t-t-t-talk b-better is not an education. Reading books is an education. Mmmmmmaking your own way in the w-world is an education." He was smarting a little at the comment, but trying hard not to let it show.

Hogan laid a hand on Newkirk's shoulder. "You're a _summa cum laude_ graduate of the school of hard knocks, Newkirk," he said. "That's a fine education."

"Summa cum whatta?" Carter asked.

"It's Latin for 'with 'ighest honors,'" Newkirk replied, leaning into the Colonel's supportive touch.

"What did I tell you?" Hogan beamed. He was regularly impressed at how much Newkirk actually did know, despite his meager schooling. "Remember that time we recited Portia's monologue from the _Merchant of Venice_ for Crittendon when he was trying to prove what a great memory he had? You knew more of it than I did." He laughed at the memory, and then sobered up. "OK, we're getting a little off track now. We really need to think about the Berlin Betty broadcast." His arm dropped from its comfortable spot on Newkirk's shoulders and he started pacing.

"I'd do it, but I'm afraid I'd mess up," Carter said.

There was no dispute about that. Four heads nodded in agreement; the thought of Carter in the presence of a gorgeous foreign agent was too horrible to contemplate. "Putty in her hands" didn't even cover it.

"I'd do it, but France has already surrendered," LeBeau said grumpily.

"_Vive la France_, LeBeau," Newkirk said. "No. Let me go."

"Newkirk, you? _Mon pote_, do you know what you're saying?" LeBeau absolutely didn't want Newkirk to put himself on the line that way. How would he even get through a radio broadcast? He could barely say his name when he was with strangers.

Hogan's thoughts were traveling along the same path. "I appreciate the gesture, but I don't think that's such a good idea, Newkirk," he said. He saw Newkirk's determined expression, and continued in a soft voice: "Peter, you're making good headway against your stutter, but this would be very difficult for you. I'm sorry, but I can't see how you would get through it."

"But Gov, you gave me the idea yourself. I j-j-j-just need a script." He stepped back from his mates, dipped his head down briefly, then lifted his chin up, pulled his shoulders back, and performed.

_The quality of mercy is not strained._

_It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven_

_Upon the place beneath. It is twice blessed._

_It blesseth him that gives and him that takes._

_'Tis mightiest in the mightiest. It becomes_

_The thronèd monarch better than his crown._

_His scepter shows the force of temporal power,_

_The attribute to awe and majesty_

_Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings,_

_But mercy is above this sceptered sway._

_It is enthronèd in the hearts of kings._

_It is an attribute to God himself._

Then he stood back. _Blimey_, he thought, _What did I just do? They must all think I'm mad, or just showing off._

The room was silent. Carter was gawking, mouth slack. Kinch was moved beyond words. LeBeau looked like a proud mother, clasping his hands under his chin, misty eyed.

And Hogan—Hogan was calculating the possibilities. "So if we write out a script, you can deliver it? Just like that?" he said. "No stutter at all?"

"Exactly so, Gov," Newkirk replied. "And after all, I'm British, Sir, like mmmmmost of the people who hear B-B-B-B, 'er, after the cricket scores."

"There's only one problem," Kinch said. "You're going to have to deal with the aftermath."

Hogan nodded. "That's right. Whoever does this job has to understand that memories are long. After this war is over, we'll all be home. And people will remember this as the act of a traitor," he said. "I'm sorry, Newkirk. I'm not willing to let you - or any of you boys- live with that. It has to be me."

The dank tunnel echoed with protests. "You can't, _mon Colonel_!" "We won't let you sacrifice yourself!" "There's got to be another way!"

"No one will believe I mmmeant it," Newkirk shouted above the fray. His team mates quieted down and he repeated himself. "No one will b-believe I mmmeant it b-because…"

"Don't be naïve, Pierre," LeBeau said.

"… because I won't st-st-st-st-st…." He stopped and rolled his eyes in exasperation, then waved a hand to Kinch.

"Stammer," Kinch said. "You're onto something, Newkirk."

"Right. I won't do that when I give this little speech. B-Because I'll be reading from a script. I won't have trouble saying it. And anyone what knows me knows I st-st-stammer like a pneumatic drill when I'm j-j-j-j-…" He took another big breath. "J-j-j-just talking. But I can read perfectly fine if I'm given a script."

"Pneumatic drill?" Carter asked.

"A jackhammer," Kinch supplied.

"And now you know why I said pneumatic drill," Newkirk said with a grin as LeBeau elbowed him in the ribs and laughed. Newkirk could be quite good-natured about his speech impediment, especially in the company of his closest friends. "J" was his hardest sound, and he avoided it as much as he could.

Newkirk turned to the Colonel with a serious expression. "Please, Sir. I can do this for the team. And I can live with the c-c-c-consequences. 'Alf the world already looks down on mmme, between mmme accent and me st-st-stammer and being a working class lad with very little _formal_ education," he said, cutting his eyes over the Carter. "I don't care what they think. And the people I do care about will know something else was going on. They'll either assume I 'ad a, a, a gun to me 'ead or they'll realize I was reading from a script."

Hogan had his arms crossed and his fist pressed against his lips. Yes, this might just work, and with the minimum fallout for the volunteer.

"All right, Newkirk, you're on. Get ready to make your debut on the Berlin Betty broadcast."

"Thank you, Sssir, I'll mmmake you proud. J-j-j-j-just tell me I won't 'ave to say 'er nname, and I'll b-be right as rain. B-B-Berlin B-Betty is a mmmmm, mmmouthful for me," Newkirk said.

"More like a handful," LeBeau said dreamily, his hands curving gently in front of him. "Do you think she'll kiss you, _mon pote_?"

"Of-of course she will," Newkirk said confidently. "'Ow c-could she possibly resist mmm, mmmy abundant charms?"

Kinch had him in a headlock in a split second. Newkirk's brothers in arms might let him get away with bragging about his imagined conquest of Berlin Betty in a few days' time, but until then they were going to do their best to keep him humble.

(To be continued…)


End file.
